


Smiles/Sorrows

by KrozJr



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Implied Murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:53:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23775661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KrozJr/pseuds/KrozJr
Summary: She loves him. And that’s okay. She loves him too.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Hermione Granger, Unrequited Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley
Comments: 3
Kudos: 11





	Smiles/Sorrows

**“Smiles”**

Laughter fills the air. A true, resounding laughter like a twitter on a summer evening breeze, or like the first breaths of pollen in the spring. It overwhelms, and is almost intoxicating in its joy.

She has every reason to laugh; she’s happy and content. Her friends have spent time with her all day. They went to the riverside and chatted and gossiped. A drink here and there, lunch on a baked-hot fake-tartan blanket, music blaring from a speaker almost out of the range of hearing and certainly muffled to the point of tunelessness. Beats roll over like waves but it’s alright. Everything’s alright.

The sun is dazzlingly bright in her hair, warming and melting her heart. She’s joyful and happy and excited and oh so interested in everything. Even the most boring of conversations today could captivate her; she’s just in one of those moods.

She’s joyous, as she walks down the street, and the old buildings simply seem to smile back. The truest of smiles, from these relics of the past.

The trees have always been swaying, for as long as she remembers. Leaves gently rustling, a gentle background hum in every daily occurrence. But today, of all days, it’s louder than ever before. And that’s alright.

She’s chatting idly with friends, some faces known while others not, and she can make out everything. The small brown flecks in his green irises or the subtle dotted freckles that rise in a blush on her face under her brown hair every time he cracks a joke. She sighs, knowing that sooner or later they’ll wind up together.

She catches herself, her inner monologue, and reminds herself that it’s no good (and downright confusing) to refer to herself and two of her friends using the same pronouns, but the day is long and the nights short, so she doesn’t care.

Everything is right with the world, and she goes off home to make dinner. A red breeze flies behind her as she enters her home. Tomorrow, she’s got a trip planned to a hotel, of sorts.

She loves him. And that’s okay. She’s fine with that.

  
  
  
  


**“Sorrows”**

Laughter fills the air, a faint hollowness tinging it. It’s empty, alone, forced, like a hearth in the woods on a cold December night, or like the last green leaves at the end of autumn, succumbing at last to the inevitable death. It overwhelms, and is able to drown in its misery.

There is no reason to laugh, other than to save face; nothings right any more and happiness is, at best, an illusion. Sorrow fills her face as she sees through their lies, for why would they want to be her friends? Down by the riverside, she contemplated drowning, ripples on the water merging and smashing into the banks as bubbles force their way up. Parched lips, for although it feels cold to her the sun is astonishingly hot; she’s probably got heatstroke, and a siren-song on the breeze reminding her of what she could’ve had. It fills her with sorrow, and everything is nothing.

The sun is excruciatingly bright in her hair, burning the skin and reddening it with its invisible touch. Nothing has much meaning, for they never liked her anyway. She feels a chill as they share a conversation, very much a private one that she’s gatecrashing.

She’s regretful, as she walks down the street, and as the old buildings frown at her idea. Over the years, they’ve seen enough heartbreak and deception, but the bricks can do nothing but stare onwards at the show to unfold.

The tree’s have always been lost in the gale, as far as she knows. Rustling, incessantly, providing no safe haven for lost birds, small and scared, alone in the world. And today, of all days, it’s louder, drowning out reason and rationality. And that’s… alright?

She’s longing for an escape from these “friends”, faces known but alien and cold to her. She can the intoxicating way his eyes flicker over the scene, and the way that her face rises to red every time she is gazed upon. She sighs, putting on a brave face, reminiscing on what could but will never be.

Her inner monologue, confused as it is, is all that keeps her sane nowadays, and this jumbled mess (which isn’t helped by how all-over-the-place it is) is her tether, her rock, her post that holds her in place in a world she no longer feels safe in.

Everything is right, in their world, so she sneaks away to her kitchen, to the knife drawer, a gift for her. A red storm, the first of two tonight, is flying from her head in strands that are tantalisingly thin, almost deceptively silky, as she enters her home. Tomorrow, she’s turned off her alarm as she knows the pounding on the door and the sobs will wake her up when she’s needed, and she’ll be taken away to the highest-security hotel you can imagine.

She loves him. And that’s not okay. She loves him too.

**Author's Note:**

> Well that was dark, wasn’t it? This was originally written for a school project, but I thought would work quite well as a HP fanfiction, so tweaked it slightly. This takes place any point when HP, HG, and GW are together, like at The Burrow.


End file.
